With the salty breeze of the Pacific drifting through the open windows and the soft cry of her newborn daughter filling the newly furnished nursery, Mia stood barefoot in the hallway of Max's Malibu home, both overwhelmed and amazed.
It had only been a few weeks since she, Max, and baby Rowan moved from their quiet custom-built home in Oklahoma to the sprawling beachfront house in California. Max had left shortly after, heading to training camp with his brother Jeremy, and now Mia was navigating a brand-new city, single-mothering a newborn, and—on top of it all—planning a wedding.
Thank goodness for Heather, April, and Ashley.
"Okay," Heather said, spreading a giant binder of swatches and mood boards across the kitchen island. "We've got a month, a venue, and a vision. You just had a baby, so we're not doing stress—we're doing strategy."
April grinned and handed Mia a glass of iced tea. "Think dreamy beach ceremony, soft candlelight, eucalyptus, and ivory tones. Minimal drama. Maximum romance."
Ashley, Max's sister-in-law through his older brother, chimed in while bouncing a sleepy Rowan in her arms. "And the guest list. Charlotte's already texted me three times asking about seating arrangements. She's got opinions, Mia. I hope you're ready."
Mia smiled tiredly. She wasn't sure she was ready for the wedding, but for everything—the move, the change in routine, the distance from the life she and Max had built together in Oklahoma. Here, everything felt louder, faster, and more unpredictable.
But Rowan's sleepy sigh against Ashley's shoulder reminded her that this was where her new life began.
Afternoons were spent bouncing between baby nap schedules and vendor meetings. Mia leaned on her sisters-in-law for every decision, from the floral arch to the catered brunch menu. Despite the sleep deprivation, she found herself laughing more than she had in weeks and was surprised by how seamlessly the women around her rallied to carry the weight.
Every evening, she video-called Max. He would be sweaty and exhausted and sitting in a generic dorm room at training camp, but his face would light up when he saw her and Rowan.
"Id she smile today?" he'd ask.
"She burped like a linebacker," Mia would joke.
"Just like her mom," he'd tease back.
It wasn't easy doing this without him, but with each day, Mia was reclaiming her strength.
One quiet night, after the house had settled and the waves outside lulled Rowan to sleep, Mia stepped onto the back deck, toes sinking into the soft sand just beyond the patio. She looked out at the moonlit ocean and imagined the ceremony—how Max would look waiting for her barefoot in the sand, the way the wind would catch her veil, the way Rowan would coo in someone's arms nearby as they promised forever in front of the people who mattered most.
California wasn't Oklahoma. It didn't have the same stillness, the same familiarity. But it had opportunity, growth, and space for their next chapter.
With the stars above and her daughter safe in the nursery behind her, Mia whispered into the night, "Let's build something new here."
And from somewhere deep in her bones, she believed they would.
The house was tranquil for a Friday afternoon. Mia had just rocked Rowan to sleep when she noticed the glances—the knowing smiles exchanged between Heather, April, and Ashley. Something was up.
Ashley was the first to speak, her light, teasing voice. "Pack a bag. You've got a reservation in San Diego tonight."
Mia blinked. "What? Why?"
April grinned, holding up a garment bag with a silky dress peeking from the zipper. "Because you, dear Mia, haven't had a break since you gave birth. And because Max gets one night off from training camp. Jeremy pulled a few strings with the coach."
"And we got you a hotel suite," Heather added. "Right on the water. You two need this."
Mia's heart immediately tightened. "But Rowan…"
Ashley placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "She'll be in good hands. We've got bottles, diapers, and three grown women ready to spoil her. You need time with your soon-to-be husband, Mia. Time to remember who you are—not just as a mom, but as a woman who loves fiercely."
Mia looked toward the nursery. She hadn't been away from Rowan for over an hour since birth. The idea of leaving—even for a night—felt unnatural. But the ache to be with Max, to hold him without a crying baby between them, to breathe in the scent of his skin and feel his arms around her again…
She nodded slowly. "Okay. Just one night."
The sun had dipped behind the San Diego skyline by the time Mia stepped into the boutique hotel lobby. Her nerves fluttered like butterflies in her stomach—part guilt, part excitement—as she rode the elevator up to the top floor.
When the doors slid open, Max was standing there waiting.
He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and jeans slung low on his hips, and his smile—God, that smile—was pure sunshine.
They didn't say anything at first. Mia dropped her bag, and he reached for her like he couldn't bear another second apart. Their kiss was long, breathless, full of every missed moment from the past few weeks.
"Hi," she whispered against his mouth.
"Hi, baby," Max said, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "God, I missed you."
They barely reached the door before their hands found each other again, desperate, familiar. The tension between them melted as laughter replaced exhaustion. They ordered room service, curled up on the balcony with a bottle of wine, and talked about everything and nothing while the waves crashed below them.
"I feel guilty," Mia confessed as she curled into his chest later that night. "But I also feel like… me again."
Max kissed the top of her head. "You are you, Mia. Whether you're holding our daughter or me, you're everything."
Her heart swelled.
In the quiet of the night, wrapped in hotel sheets and his arms, Mia remembered what it felt like to be a couple again—before diapers, cross-country moves, and all the beautiful chaos.
It was just one night.
But it was everything.
The hotel room was dimly lit, the only glow from the lights twinkling along the balcony rail outside. The steady hush of the ocean below filled the quiet as Max and Mia lay tangled together on the bed, their fingers lightly brushing as if reacquainting themselves with a rhythm they once knew by heart.
Mia sat up slightly, the soft cotton sheet slipping off her shoulder. Her eyes searched his face—so familiar, so missed. "I feel different," she said quietly.
Max reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You are different. You're a mother now. You're stronger. Even more beautiful." His voice lowered. "But you're still mine."
Mia exhaled, shaky, not from fear but from anticipation—the kind she hadn't let herself feel in months. There had been healing, adjustments, sleepless nights, and the unspoken question hanging between them: When will we feel like us again?
She moved closer, pressing her palm to his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart. "I want to," she whispered. "But be gentle with me."
Max sat up slowly, reverently, his hand sliding around her waist as if she might break. "Always."
They kissed again, slower this time. Not the hungry, hurried kisses of their first reunions, but something softer, more profound. Mia let herself melt into him, feeling the rough scratch of his jaw, the warmth of his breath, the way his touch moved with care instead of urgency.
Max didn't rush. His fingers traced the curve of her hips, the stretch marks on her stomach, the new lines motherhood had carved into her body. He kissed each one like a vow, like they were sacred.
Mia felt her body respond—not just with desire but with trust. The fear dissolved beneath the weight of his love, his patience, and his devotion.
And when they finally came together, it was slow, quiet, and utterly consuming.
There were no fireworks. No dramatic declarations. Just skin against skin, breath against breath. Two people, worn but willing, finding their way back to each other.
Afterward, Mia lay in the crook of his arm, her fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest. "I didn't know how much I missed this," she murmured.
Max kissed her forehead. "Me either. But it was worth the wait."
She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion wrapped around her like a warm blanket. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Mia didn't feel torn between roles.
Tonight, she was not just a mother. She was Max's soon-to-be wife, his partner, and his love.
And they were still them—changed, maybe, but stronger than ever.
Soft morning light spilled through the gauzy curtains, painting golden lines across the sheets tangled at their feet. Mia stirred slowly, blinking against the sun and the unfamiliar stillness of a room without a baby monitor humming nearby.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then she felt Max's chest steady rise and fall beneath her cheek, his arm draped across her back. Their legs were still woven together like they hadn't moved at all during the night.
And it all came rushing back.
Their whispered confessions. Their laughter. The soft way he'd held her, like she was fragile and fierce all at once. For the first time in what felt like forever, she hadn't felt stretched thin or half-present. She had simply been Mia, and she had been his.
She kissed his chest, smiling when she felt him stir beneath her.
"Morning," he murmured, voice thick with sleep, his fingers lazily tracing the curve of her spine.
"Morning," she whispered back.
They lay there for a while in that perfect quiet, where time didn't matter and there were no cries to answer, no lists to check off—just the rhythm of shared breath and the afterglow of something sacred.
Max turned slightly, brushing his lips over her forehead. "How are you feeling?"
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes—clear, warm, and sleepy. "Sore," she admitted, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "But... happy."
His grin spread slowly, like sunshine. "I was going to say the same thing. Except maybe more like... wrecked and in love."
Mia laughed, the sound light and free. "Same."
They ordered room service, wrapped in sheets as they ate on the balcony. Mia wore his hoodie, legs bare, hair a mess. Max couldn't stop looking at her like she was made of magic.
"I missed this," he said, voice quieter now. "Us. Not just the physical stuff. You. Your laugh, your sarcasm. The way you eat fruit is like it's a war."
Mia rolled her eyes and tossed a strawberry at him, which he caught with a grin. "I missed you, too. So much. But... I was scared to leave her."
"I know." He reached for her hand, twining their fingers. "And I'm so proud of you for everything you're doing. But I want you to know it's okay to need still things that are just yours. Just ours. We're allowed to be more than just parents."
She nodded, letting the truth of that settle into her bones. "Thank you for being patient with me."
Max kissed her hand. "You gave me a daughter. I'd wait a lifetime for you."
Tears pricked her eyes, but she didn't brush them away. Instead, she leaned into him again, resting her head on his shoulder.
The moment was quiet. Whole. Healing.
Eventually, she would return home to Rowan, to the routine, the wedding planning, and the swirl of new motherhood.
But for now, in a sun-drenched hotel room by the sea, Mia let herself be—a woman in love, with the man who made her feel safe, seen, and wanted.
The SUV pulled into the curved driveway of the Malibu house just after noon, and Mia's stomach fluttered with anticipation. Her overnight bag sat forgotten on the passenger seat—she had barely touched it. All she could think about now was her daughter's weight in her arms again.
She hadn't expected it to hit this hard.
One night. Just one.
And yet her chest felt tight, her arms restless, craving the warmth and scent of Rowan's little body. She missed how her baby sighed in her sleep, and her fingers instinctively curled around Mia's thumb. She even missed the 3 a.m. cries that used to leave her bleary-eyed and desperate for quiet.
As soon as she stepped into the house, the scent of home—baby powder, lavender, coffee—wrapped around her like a blanket.
Heather appeared first, barefoot and smiling, holding a half-drunk iced latte. "Hey, mama. She just woke up."
Before Mia could say a word, she was already moving down the hall, feet silent against the hardwood, heart thudding with urgency. She reached the nursery door just as April came out, bottle in hand.
"She's been an angel," April whispered. "Woke up once around four, and then again about thirty minutes ago. Ashley's in there with her now."
Mia swallowed the lump rising in her throat and stepped inside.
There she was.
Tiny, wide-eyed, swaddled in a pale green blanket, nestled against Ashley's shoulder. Rowan turned at the sound of the door, and Mia swore her baby recognized her immediately—those bright blue, curious eyes locking with hers like a magnet finding its true north.
Ashley smiled, gentle and understanding. "Here," she said softly, lifting Rowan with the practiced ease of someone who had done this before. "Mama's home."
Mia's arms opened instinctively, and when Rowan settled into them, everything inside her clicked back into place. The rhythm of her heartbeat calmed, and her breath steadied. She pressed her lips to her daughter's temple and closed her eyes.
"Hi, baby girl," she whispered. "Mommy missed you so much."
Rowan sighed and tucked herself into Mia's chest like she'd been waiting for her all along.
Ashley slipped out of the room quietly, giving them space. Mia sat in the rocking chair by the window, holding Rowan close, letting the silence wrap around them like a lullaby.
"I needed last night," she murmured, running her fingers through Rowan's soft hair. "I needed to remember that I'm still me… but I also didn't realize how much I'd miss you."
Tears slipped down her cheeks, not from guilt this time, but from love. A love so deep and wide and constant it shook her.
Max had been right. They were allowed to be more than just parents. Bus—this-this—was the center of her world. A part of her that breathed and cried and smiled like her father.
Outside, the ocean murmured against the shore. In her arms, Rowan drifted off again, completely at peace.
And Mia smiled, knowing she could carry both things in her heart—the woman she was before, and the mother she was now. The wife. The partner. The dreamer. All of it. All of her.
One night away had reminded her who she was.
Coming home reminded her why it mattered.